As the poet cooked (he was hardly more than a servant lately and the warrior's only retainer), he mulled the problem over. As a singer and teller of tales he had talent suited to the purpose in many ways and so it was that he began to spin yarns of far-off lands, of adventures in distant places, of the exotic wonders to be found beyond the horizon.
Goroba-Dike knew the old man nearly as well as the old man knew him, and could see he was being manipulated, but out of affection and some interest he listened and began to dream. However, a sort of listlessness had settled on the young warrior and nothing much seemed to excite him.
After weeks of seemingly futile preparation, a heaven-sent opportunity came Ulal's way. There was news afoot as strange as one of his own stories, and perhaps suited to his purpose. The darkness surrounding them, the stars sparkling above, Ulal chose his moment that night, as they sat facing the fire in companionable silence. With feigned nonchalance he imparted the tale as it had been told to him that morning, barely embellishing it.
“You have heard me speak of Sariam?”
“Lately of little else but such far-flung places.”
“Apparently,” Ulal went on, “the youngest and still unmarried daughter of the king there is making a very merry farce of her father's court. Both her elder sisters have married well from among the local nobles but she refuses to follow their example. It seems she has the most odd requirement of her husband to be. Most odd.” Ulal smiled. “The girl has a very narrow ring and she insists she will marry no man but the one man that it fits. Is that not strange, Goroba-Dike, my lord?”
“Why strange?” cried Goroba-Dike. “It is an elegant physical attribute, a true mark of the best-bred of our own people.” With that he held his fine hands before the glowing fire and admired the long, slender fingers. “Perhaps too she is not understood by her father and wishes to vex him for sport. It is a spirit I cannot bring myself to condemn,” Goroba-Dike went on. “But this story is not new. I've heard the people around here whispering about it for weeks.”
“Oh,” Ulal sighed in disappointment, though he could see the story had captured his master's imagination like nothing else of late. It was true that the situation in Sariam had been going on for some time and that the king was losing patience, so it was logical that Goroba-Dike had heard something of it. Perhaps it was just as well, otherwise he might not have believed it. Ulal chuckled to himself.
“Have you not thought to go there and try on this ring and make your fortune?”
“In Sariam?” Goroba-Dike asked, more harshly than was his custom when addressing Ulal, whom he liked and respected above all other men, though he would never say so. “What would be the use of it?”
Ulal could see that it was with regret that Goroba-Dike said this and that the idea rather appealed to him.
“If I were a younger man and had such fingers …” laughed Ulal.
“Have you no standards, no tribal loyalties?” snapped Goroba- Dike, before adding glumly. “Perhaps it is just that my position is greater, but no foreign princess …”
“A very beautiful princess, I understand,” whispered Ulal, though he had heard no such thing.
“It does not matter. It would be impossible for each of us,” muttered the warrior sadly.
“You do not know that King Hamadi Ardo is himself a Fulbe? Have I managed to teach you nothing of the world?” The mabo asked, laughing.
“Has the bribe to take me away from the Bammama risen so high, Ulal, that you would betray me to earn it?” Goroba-Dike shouted.
“It has certainly risen to a very attractive figure,” Ulal conceded.
This response took Goroba-Dike aback, and he stared at his mabo in astonishment. But Ulal was engrossed in thinking of ways to inspire and challenge his master and took no notice of his reaction. “In fact,” he said. “I would have thought your own brother would have gone to try his luck if he had been warrior enough to brave the dangers of the journey, so full of brigands and thieves …”
“That fool,” laughed Goroba-Dike. “His fingers may be nearly as long and slender as mine, it is true, but what princess would look at his face?”
“Certainly it is not unlike that of a camel,” Ulal conceded. “But women are perverse creatures and this one is inordinately spoiled, it would seem. There is no telling what will please such a one. Perhaps by this time some refined fellow of fair Sariam has at last come forward …”
“Saddle the horses, Ulal,” Goroba-Dike snapped decisively. “We ride tonight.”
“Yes, lord.”
“But only after you have received your bribe,” the grinning warrior said. “It should just about cover our expenses for the journey.”
Apart from the odd skirmish with robbers, a sandstorm or two and nearly perishing from lack of water, the two men arrived on the outskirts of Sariam in good order. What worried both now, aside from the inevitable court intrigue, was how they would deal with being in the strange and heady atmosphere of a proper town. In the younger man's case it would be for the very first time. That, and going amongst a far more opulent and sophisticated company than either had experienced, gave them pause for reflection.
Above all, feeling towards Goroba-Dike as a father towards a son, Ulal realized that his charge must learn to be a better, more thoughtful man. His arrogance towards strangers during their travels had embarrassed and endangered them more than once. In a place like Sariam such behaviour would not do.
Ulal himself was none too keen on entering the town. He did not like or trust such places. That the pair of them were very short of money was another concern. As they rested their horses on a hilltop, gazing on Sariam in the near distance, similar worries were going through Goroba-Dike's mind, although he would not admit to them.
Already the poet's mind was working on a strategy that would hopefully help assure their survival and prosperity, while giving Goroba-Dike some much needed humbling.
“We must not go in to Sariam as we are, especially you, lord,” Ulal began. “It would not do at all.”
“What do you mean? How else should we proceed? And why ever not?”
“We will be set upon by thieves …”
“Do you think I fear thieves,” Goroba-Dike laughed derisively.
“Those who come with knives and threats, lord, no indeed. But what of those who use soft words and who employ tricks and wiles the like of which we of the deserts and clean places of the earth know nothing? What of lawyers and officials, what of rivals for the princess's hand, and others at court, who, seeing you, will despair and send assassins by stealth? Think, lord, we could not trust the very food we ate in Sariam if we, lonely strangers, proceeded too openly.”
“Perhaps what you say is true,” the young man nodded sagely. “The jealousy my arrival will surely engender could well be dangerous, until we have the authority of the crown behind us …”
“Exactly, lord. And, of course, there is a need for mystery. A man out of the story books, with no fortune, a fellow who would capture the heart of a princess must have more than slender fingers.”
The great shoulders sagged and though Goroba-Dike did not reply, Ulal knew the young warrior had received his first lesson in humility.
Following the advice of his mabo, Goroba-Dike made his way into Sariam on foot, dressed in the clothes of a peasant, and looking for work. Ulal remained with the horses at the dwelling of the peasant they had bought the clothing from, keenly awaiting developments. He was glad of the opportunity to put his feet up for a while.
With his superior strength to recommend him, Goroba-Dike quickly found employment with a blacksmith and settled down to his labours. Encouraged by Ulal, he bided his time and was content to learn all he could about the town, its people and the doings of the court. Indeed, relieved of the responsibility of being himself, he began increasingly to enjoy the masquerade, the hard but simple work and the company of ordinary people who were neither afraid nor resentful of him.
At the palace, things were going f
rom bad to worse. The king was losing patience with his youngest daughter, her mother was a nervous wreck and her sisters and their scheming husbands were making capital out of the turmoil. With no male heir the succession was uncertain, so the longfavoured, very intelligent younger daughter's choice of husband was a matter of great importance, and its implications for the others considerable.
The king's growing exasperation spilled over into anger after yet another suitor had presented himself and been found wanting. The whispered derision of his sons-in-law, who always subtly bullied him, added to his ire.
“At this rate she will never discover a man whose finger fits her marriage ring,” they twittered in the background.
Embarrassed and outraged the king railed at his youngest daughter.
“Enough of this waiting and hoping,” he thundered, and then and there ordered a convocation of all the unmarried Fulbe men of his kingdom. Every one of them must try the ring on and whomsoever it fitted must marry his daughter with no quibbling on either side, he declared. This was his last word on the subject, and such was the heat of his fury that none dared question him, even the princess.
The ceremony ordered by the king took place soon afterwards. Hundreds of bachelors arrived, no longer simply the high-born or optimistic. Those not of the better sort, the warrior class, were given short shrift by the court, however, especially by the husbands of two of the other princesses. However, none of any standing could manage to slip the little silver band past the second knuckle of his ring finger.
At Ulal's urging, for he was on hand at his master's side, also humbly dressed, Goroba-Dike stepped out from the throng, fresh from the blacksmith's forge.
“Mustn't let this one get away,” muttered one son-in-law.
“A true blue blood, to be certain,” hissed another.
“I am no warrior,” Goroba-Dike said humbly, secretly thrilled by the deception. “But I too am a Fulbe.”
“Present your finger,” growled the exasperated king, who was about to turn away and dismiss the assembly. Anything was better than his daughter never finding a husband, he had decided.
Amidst derisive laughter, most particularly from the husbands of the other princesses, Goroba-Dike stretched out his hand. The princess regarded the unkempt stranger with disdain and only for form's sake did she put the ring on his finger. She gasped as the second knuckle presented no obstacle and the ring slipped easily into place.
“Right,” cried the king. “Let the marriage take place at once.” Laughter and ribald comments ran round the assembly, reaching a crescendo.
The princess burst into tears, humiliated at the prospect of wedding such a dirty, sweaty, lowborn specimen.
Goroba-Dike's act of faith in Ulal's plan and his own instincts were further tested when the marriage was performed. On the wedding night the beautiful and haughty princess refused to touch her new husband and treated him with utter disgust. Goroba-Dike exercised great restraint. He continued to play the part of the lowly blacksmith's assistant turned royal bridegroom for many days to come, and lived like an unloved palace house pet. Meanwhile, Ulal returned to the peasant's home. Many and varied were the slights and cruelties Goroba-Dike suffered at the hands of his brothers-in-law and others at court. Two of the brothers-in-law, however, surpassed everyone else in their meanness, tricking him into doing things that were demeaning to a real noble, making fun of him at every turn, indeed regarding him as a joke and no better than a servant.
Then, one morning it was excitedly reported that Burdama tribesmen had raided the cattle pens outside the town and stolen much of the king's livestock. Sariam's fighting men quickly assembled and rode off in pursuit, but Goroba-Dike refused to join them. Instead, he hopped onto the back of a donkey and headed off in the opposite direction, to the home of the peasant.
Ulal was feeling rather pleased with himself, because he had predicted such a happening. Goroba-Dike quickly changed his clothing before galloping off cross-country to catch up with the war party on the trail of the cattle raiders. He came upon them not far from the enemy's encampment, sitting on their horses, dithering about who would lead the attack. The men watched his approach and all were impressed with his heroic appearance. Goroba-Dike was resplendent in silk robes, well and expensively armed and bestride a horse of the best blood. None recognized him as the husband of the young princess but saw that he was a Fulbe warrior like themselves. They entreated him, so apparently a champion, to take command of their impending attack to recover King Hamadi Ardo's property.
“Has the king no sons or sons-in-law to fight in his name?” asked Goroba-Dike disingenuously.
“Three sons-in-law,” said one of the warriors, leaning over in his saddle and spitting emphatically on the ground. “But one has run away and the other two are pretty useless as leaders or fighters. That's them on the hill over there, looking important, doing nothing and shivering in their boots.”
“Well, it's like this,” Goroba-Dike smiled, throwing one leg over the pommel of his saddle, resting an elbow on his knee and leaning towards the group of warriors. “Tell the two prince-consorts who are present that if they will both give me an ear, then I will lead this attack and give them a victory. They can take all the credit and pretend to have been honourably wounded in combat.”
This was not part of Ulal's plan or predictions, but, if it worked, it might be useful and would certainly be very, very sweet to Goroba-Dike.
His brothers-in-law being both great cowards, certain they would die in the battle, unable to bring themselves to go back to Sariam empty handed, and loath to fight, jumped at the chance. Grimacing and whimpering, they had a servant cut off the right ear of one and the left of the other and these were presented to the strange champion from the desert. Although sad about their missing ears, they were pleased enough with the bargain.
The other soldiers enjoyed the spectacle, and found that the toughmindedness of the stranger gave them heart. So it was that after a quick reconnoitre, Goroba-Dike drew his sword and led them in a thundering assault on the Burdama, who were busy gloating over their booty and dreaming of the profits to be made.
He was the first to reach the raiders and cut down several of them before coming face to face with their leader. This giant managed to mount his horse and meet him, as the rest of the king's men swept through the camp, driving all before them.
The clash of swords was ear-splitting as the two men squared off, horses turning, steel flashing, each seeking an advantage, assessing the other's ability. As his enemy's blade passed a hair's breadth from his nose, Goroba-Dike at last struck a telling blow at his enemy's head. The big Burdama could not parry quickly enough and, his head nearly severed from his body, he gaped in astonishment at what had befallen him. Goroba-Dike stood up in his stirrups, waving his sword in his lean but strong black arm and bellowing triumphantly as the dying enemy chieftain slithered from the saddle.
Bowing and laughing, he accepted the cheers of the warriors, who had scattered the rest of the enemy band and were recovering the cattle. Goroba-Dike bid them all farewell and very pointedly rode off into the sunset, leaving his brothers-in-law to slink out of the shadows now that the coast was clear. Desperately, they swore the warriors to silence about what had really happened.
Taking a roundabout route lest he should be followed, Goroba-Dike rode back to the peasant's house where Ulal was waiting for news. Together they groomed the warhorse, cleaned the weapons and discussed their next move. The young warrior then donned his humble clothes once more, mounted his flea-bitten donkey, and returned to the palace. Amidst the victory celebrations for the safe recovery of the king's cattle, no one took any notice of him.
Later that night he listened from a corner of the throne-room as his brothers-in-law crowed about their triumph. They told the king stirring tales of how they had been wounded – so ironically in a similar fashion – while in the thick of the fighting. Goroba-Dike smiled to himself and fingered the ears that he had placed in his wallet.
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That night his wife not only rejected his timid advances but refused to share a bed with him, insisting he curl up on the floor like the dog he surely was. Her disdain had turned to contempt.
The next morning, howling for revenge and led by the equally large and bold brother of the giant Burdama champion, the raiders returned, but this time for more than cattle. Attacking and threatening to overwhelm the North Gate, the town itself was their target.
All the fighting men of Sariam massed together and rushed to the North Gate, all except Goroba-Dike who mounted his sorry donkey and rode out through the South Gate at a trot. Hooted at by the people, pelted with rotten fruit, he was called every filthy name in the Sariam language.
On reaching the peasant's house, he told Ulal what had happened. The mabo danced with glee and swore he had seen it all as if in a dream, or a song he had already composed. Then he urged the warrior to hurry and prepare himself. Goroba-Dike cleaned up before dressing in his own clothes, taking up his arms and mounting his warhorse. He arrived back in Sariam with not a moment to spare. Already the enemy had broken through the North Gate and were on the rampage in the town.
Goroba-Dike rode to the palace looking for the fight. He came upon a small party of the Burdama in the royal courtyard. On the steps of the palace, leading to the private quarters of the king's family, the youngest princess was wildly waving a sword at two laughing raiders, one of whom took a cut to the shoulder on purpose while the other darted in and disarmed her. Grabbing her slim body they hustled her towards the spot where one of their number stood holding their mounts.
Goroba-Dike urged his horse forwards, sword in hand. He split the skull of this third man, and then turned to face the other two. The horses the man had been holding scattered in fright. One of the Burdama released his hold on the princess and came at Goroba-Dike with deadly purpose, shouting a war cry, only to be spitted on the Fulbe champion's spear. The other Burdama slashed at Goroba-Dike as his charge carried him past, leaving a deep wound in the hero's thigh. Wheeling his horse, Goroba-Dike swung his sword down against the man's shoulder, cleaving him to the middle of his chest.
Myths and Legends from Around the World Page 34